Aftermath
by Lucrecia LeVrai
Summary: Akkarin reflects on his actions from the middle of The Novice. What would he think and feel after terrorizing three people into obedience, especially if one of these people was his closest friend?


Disclaimer: The_ Black Magician Trilogy_ is the property of Trudi Canavan. My fanfiction just borrows a few of her characters.

Author's Notes: We all know how Rothen, Sonea and Lorlen reacted to Akkarin finally taking action against them in the middle of _The Novice_. Trudi spared it quite a few pages. But what about Akkarin himself? What would he think – and feel – after terrorizing three people into obedience, especially if one of them was his closest friend? How much of his public behavior remains a necessary mask, and how much is genuine ruthlessness? Here's my attempt to answer these questions.

Did you notice the genre before clicking the link to the story? How about checking it now? Good. It _is_ six pages' worth of Akkarin's brooding, plus a character study of sorts, Sonea this, Sachaka that, but hopefully you'll still find it bearable. ;)

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><p><em>Aftermath<em>

by Lucrecia LeVrai

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><p>Late at night, Akkarin stood by the window, with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the gardens outside his residence. He was barely able to make out the nearest line of trees, their branches moving slightly in the wind he couldn't hear. The room around him was equally dark, since he hadn't bothered to cast a globe of light. The silence, the darkness, it suited him just fine.<p>

Today, he had terrorized an honest, respectable teacher and his hardworking apprentice into obedience. He had made the graying man's hands shake in fear, and the girl whimper in pain and struggle against his hold. He needn't have entered their minds to realize that they hated him as much as they feared him.

All things considered, that wasn't even the lowest he had ever sunk to, but this realization didn't make him feel any better.

He had been angry, yes, and he was angry still. Angry at these damn people for discovering his secret by a dumb stroke of ill luck, and making things much more complicated for him. But mostly, he was furious with himself, for not preventing this mess in the first place. He had been tired, really tired after that fight, and that in turn had made him careless. Even so, how could he have known that someone—a girl, not even a novice, but a complete intruder—would have the urge, let alone the audacity to sneak up to his window in the middle of the night? He had some Houses try to spy on him in court for various political reasons, always to no avail, but _this_? This was ridiculous.

He was also angry at himself for the way he had acted today. He hadn't wanted to hurt or intimidate innocent people—only that he had hurt and intimidated them entirely on purpose. What was the alternative? Wave his finger at the student and her mentor, and say something along the lines of, _yes, I happen to practice forbidden arts from time to time, but I have important reasons for this, so would you please keep what you had seen to yourselves_? He almost snorted out loud at the thought. And the other option? It was equally ridiculous. He could hardly consider explaining the whole truth or even a fraction of it to these people. It would only create more chaos and certainly do nothing to solve any of his problems. They were clever enough to not believe his words alone, anyway, and providing them with _proof_ was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

He knew that everthing he had done today was necessary. The future of Kyralia was at stake, and it was all that mattered. Better let a few people think that their High Lord was a highly dangerous man who would kill them without bating an eyelid if they tried to oppose him—and if they held him for a cold-blooded murderer, he knew for a fact that they were more or less right—than risk having his secret revealed to the public.

Did _he_ consider his own threats to be real, though? How far he could go in harming the girl and everyone else who stood in his path? If the situation became unstable, would he resort to actual violence? He clenched his teeth, suddenly disgusted with himself for such thoughts. His homeland was important, yes, but during the past few years he had been fighting _for_ its citizens, not against them, and not for his own benefit, either. He knew he would not kill any fellow Guild members, and his resolve had absolutely nothing to do with the technical difficulties of making several well-known people disappear without raising too many suspicions.

If worse came to the worst and those who knew his secret took some drastic measures against him, Akkarin would rather face his much belated trial. It would be the time to tell the Guild the truth, try to make them understand the danger they were in, appeal to their collective common sense, and then maybe even swallow his pride and throw himself at the King's mercy. He was not like Tagin, after all, a madman ready to go on a devastating rampage through the country just because someone disagreed with his means of practicing magic. Of course, he would never stand for being executed, either. If they sentenced him to death for his crimes, he _would_ fight his way out—but not a moment sooner. As long as the current threat to Kyralia remained, he needed to stay alive, it was as simple as that. And he needed to stop people from meddling in his affairs, too.

Akkarin rested his forearm against the windowpane and leant forward, burying his forehead in the crook of his arm. He could see his own haunted eyes in the glass, reflected up close.

He realized that he felt guilt for what he had done to the Alchemist and his student, yet he could easily convince himself that their distress would serve a higher cause. The knowledge that he had made _Lorlen _suffer, on the other hand, suddenly seemed almost unbearable.

He had hurt his best friend. Perhaps the only _real_ friend he had ever had as a novice—when he had still been _allowed_ to have friends. Back then, he had kept some secrets from the other boy, he had even fought with him, or played practical jokes on him, but they had been as close as brothers. He would have given his life for Lorlen, he knew he would give it still, and yet last night he had made the other man think he had wanted to murder him, instead. Akkarin had not made any explicit threats, of course, but he had seen the poorly concealed horror on Lorlen's face, he had felt it in the Administrator's surface thoughts. That total lack of trust had stung, but the other man had hardly been to blame, really. How should one react to their closest friend suddenly all but waving a knife in one's face?

Akkarin clenched his teeth so hard that it hurt. He had literally _assaulted_ his friend. Thrown him back into a chair and held him there, so he could slip into his mind against his will. It had been nowhere near as painful or degrading as it could have been—he had been easier on his friend than on the Sachakan spies he had captured, _much_ easier than Dakova had ever been on _him_, countless times in the past—but none of that really mattered, neither from his, nor from Lorlen's perspective.

Lorlen had been terrified of him. A glimpse into the man's thoughts revealed that he had been wondering, among other things, if Akkarin's blade would be put to his throat, or somewhere else, if he would be drained of his magic first, how much that would hurt, and just how impossible it was to cover up the Administrator's disappearance, meaning that his death would start a whole series of murders in the Guild. Akkarin hadn't even tried to reassure the other magician, he had had more important things to worry about at that time. But he had still sensed that Lorlen had been _disgusted_ with him, appalled by his actions and attitude. Not only because Akkarin was the High Lord, the very man the whole Guild looked up to, but because he was Lorlen's best friend—or _was_ he? Lorlen had had every right to feel betrayed.

Akkarin knew that he had broken something important last night. Lorlen's trust in him had been strained since the day of Sonea's first hearing, and now Akkarin had shattered it completely. Had he managed to rip their entire friendship to shreds, as well?

Right now, he was almost too afraid to start using the blood gem, scared of what he would discover in Lorlen's mind. He knew that he had to rely on the ring, though, otherwise he would have never bothered forcing it upon the other man. He had to monitor Lorlen's actions to keep him under control, and so he would soon have to face the true extent of fear, pain and hatred he had caused…

Akkarin moved without thinking, pushing himself off the window in one fluent motion, and then slamming his fist into a nearby wall. He had not held back that punch at all, and as a result, his whole arm was now smarting. He honestly did not mind. Physical pain provided a nice, albeit fleeting distraction from his thoughts. For a moment, he just froze, arm still outstretched, shoulders tense and his breathing heavy. It took a lot of his willpower to restrain himself to that single punch, when he would have gladly lashed out with an actual power strike—but he realized that destroying his own wall in a fit of frustration and self-loathing would get him nowhere. It would have also scared his new apprentice out of her wits—if she wasn't already.

Akkarin straightened himself up after a while, turning back to the window and letting his hand fall down. Even though it still hurt, he did not bother healing it. Nothing was broken, anyway, and he knew he had been through worse. Much worse.

Five years in Sachaka had changed him, he realized this well enough. Unfortunately, the change had hardly been for the better. It was true that he had matured a lot and gained a new, wider outlook on life, but he had also grown cynical and callous.

He had seen and experienced enough suffering to last him for a lifetime—he still wasn't free from all of it, by any chance—but that didn't necessarily mean that he had become softer, kinder or more compassionate. He saw people in the slums, for example, and knew just how much many of them suffered. Having been made into the lowest of low, he could in fact relate to their plight more than he cared to. No, he did not think that they deserved their lot in life, certainly not any more than an average noble like him deserved their wealth. And yet, unlike Sonea, whose thoughts and emotions he had studied today, he wouldn't fume over the sheer injustice.

Whether you accepted it or not, suffering was often a part of life. So was violence. Akkarin had seen death, had been very nearly brought to death, and not just once, he had even dealt death—how could he have not grown ruthless among it all? He had been faced with a simple choice: either become a harder man, or break down completely. No, he had not turned into a sick bastard like Dakova, who would actually enjoy other people's misery. He understood, however, that he could not rule the Guild effectively, let alone keep his homeland safe, if he spent every waking moment worrying about morals, someone's discomfort, or hurt feelings.

He did acknowledge other people's feelings, though, as well as his own. In the end, he was only a man, not the emotionless figure some people thought him to be. He had been pushed past his limits once, and knew he was nowhere near approaching them now, but there were times when he felt tired with his current existence. The strain of knowing that he was the only person capable of protecting Kyralia—after endangering it in the first place—the constant need for secrecy, the things he did behind everyone else's back, the burden of his past—it all weighed heavily on his mind.

Should he tell Lorlen the truth, then? _Could_ he?

It wouldn't be the first time he wondered about this, but tonight the question returned in full force. The argument of not making Lorlen scared and worried, when there was nothing the other man could do about the whole situation, was now void. Akkarin had learnt that the Administrator had been scared and worried for _months_, ever since he had seen the girl's memories, and after the previous night he was likely to start pulling first gray strands out of his hair at the age of thirty-two. Of course, learning about the Sachakan magicians would only terrify Lorlen more, but at least he would be concerned for the right reasons this time… Including the fact that his best friend _had_ been a manipulator, a liar and a murderer all along.

Akkarin grimaced, once again turning his gaze away from the window.

Even if he managed to convince Lorlen that black magic wasn't evil in itself, and that he was actually trying to prevent the murders in the city, instead of cutting into dwellers left and right, he remained just as guilty of slaughtering innocents as the assassins he hunted. He couldn't look Lorlen in the eye and tell him that he wasn't a bad man. He had once murdered thirteen innocent people just to get his chance at overpowering Dakova—not as much for his freedom, as for revenge. In fact, regardless of the guilt he still felt for sacrificing those people, killing the Ichani was the last thing he would ever regret in life, as long as principles were concerned. The son of a bitch deserved everything that had happened to him in the end, and more.

He could tell Lorlen that he hadn't had a choice in learning black magic, or using it the way he had—but there was _always_ a choice, wasn't there? He could have resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in slavery—it wouldn't have been such a long life, anyway—or accepted his death before or soon after he had resorted to killing other people. Of course, after five years in Sachaka, he had hardly been thinking clearly at the time he had been forced to make one of the most important decisions in his life, but that didn't mean he was not responsible for his own actions.

He could not even imagine describing, to another person, the things he had been through: the pain, the abuse, the hopelessness, the horror… He didn't even want to relieve it in his mind anymore than he had to. What would Lorlen think of him if he _knew_? Would he be disgusted? Terrified? Filled with pity? Would he even believe a word Akkarin said without being able to read his mind?

Personal issues aside, was it really okay to pull his friend into his current schemes? He couldn't teach Lorlen black magic, let alone ask for his help in fighting the assassins who were at least twenty times stronger than an average Guild member. He would rather his friend stayed as far away from them as possible. However, even if all Lorlen did was listen to the story and believe him, that would still make him Akkarin's accomplice. If Akkarin's secrets ever came to light, the Administrator would be accused of consciously supporting a black magician, and that was a serious crime in itself. Wasn't it better, then, to make it look as if Lorlen was only an unwilling victim? Surely, no one would blame the man for not raising a hand against the corrupt High Lord if they knew that Akkarin threatened and forced him into silence. Lorlen was safer this way, even if it didn't make the whole situation any easier for them both.

Lost in thought as he was, Akkarin still heard the door to the room creak open. He didn't have to look around to know who was standing in the entrance.

"Has she managed to fall asleep?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the dark trees outside.

"I think so, master," Takan spoke in equally quiet tones. "I took the liberty of slipping some calming herbs into her sumi."

"Good." At least, he had _someone_ to help him through this mess, if only a little. Takan was truly irreplaceable, in more ways than just one.

Thinking back to Sonea, Akkarin supposed that any other novice in her place would have had trouble falling asleep, too, even if they hadn't actually been taken hostage. The sheer excitement of becoming the High Lord's favorite would keep them awake through the night. In some female novices' cases, this excitement would not only be tied to the prestige of their new position, Akkarin mused dryly. His grim face, which terrified Sonea so, was apparently not enough to keep certain other girls from blushing in his presence… As if he would ever show interest in another woman after Asaya, much less a _novice_. He stifled a growl. Thoughts of his dead love were certainly the very last thing he needed on his mind right now if he still wanted to get some sleep himself.

No physical harm would befall Sonea in his residence. Contrary to what she feared, he would not lay a hand on her, of that he was sure. The girl would have to excuse him from tormenting her with his mere presence, though, since he had no intention to disappear from his own house for her convenience. He would try to stay out of her way, in order not to frighten her any more than necessary, just as he expected her to stay out of _his_. Perhaps in time she would grow a bit used to him, and then he could think about changing his approach. For now, he would just have to protect her from the assassins, from seeing and hearing too much… Oh, damn her to hell. Why did she have to make his life so complicated? And her servant, too, that chatty, noisy woman he had seen in Rothen's quarters… He would have her replaced with someone else first thing in the morning, he decided.

Behind his back, Takan still hesitated. "It's very late, master."

"I know. I'm not keeping you."

There was a pause, and then, "Should I prepare you a calming drink, as well?"

His face an expressionless mask, Akkarin turned around to his servant.

"No. That won't be necessary."

He knew that the other man could see right through him at times, and tonight was probably no exception. Despite the circumstances, Takan was not his closest friend. Lorlen was and always would be, their past experiences far too precious to be replaced with anything else. Still, Akkarin had pushed Lorlen away, willingly or not, and it had left no one but the Sachakan servant to know him for who he really was—a man just as weak as he was strong.

"Master," Takan said after a longer pause, without dropping his gaze. "It will all work out in time."

"Yes, I'm sure it will." Akkarin's lips curled into a half-mocking smile. "As you can see, I have the situation fully under control."

Takan watched him for a moment, as if trying to say more, yet unable to find the right words. Finally, he just bowed and retreated, leaving the door to the room open, a clear indication that he thought it would be wise for his master to enjoy the darkness somewhere else, preferably with his head pressed against the pillow.

Akkarin had refused a special cup of sumi, but a glass of Anuren dark before going to bed actually sounded like a good idea. _Make that a bottle_, he thought dryly. Yet as he moved through the room, finally lit with a magic globe, he knew that he could never afford to indulge in alcohol to his heart's content, and even if he did, it might still not be enough to grant him the respite he longed for.

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><p>Takan had really wanted to say something before he had left the room, and yet he had kept his silence. He knew his master just wanted to be alone, and he would have to respect that wish. Akkarin strongly disliked being seen during his weaker moments, few and far in between as they were, even by the man who had once seen him at his lowest and probably understood him better than anyone else in the Guild did. He was far too proud to accept sympathy and he had always abhorred pity, even as a slave. Right now, he probably thought he deserved no comfort whatsoever for what he had done.<p>

Takan had been through a lot in life, as far as unpleasant experiences went. For years, he had watched a vile man do despicable things to innocent people, and it had been painful. Still, he discovered, watching an inherently good man hurt other people—and himself in the process—could sometimes be even worse.

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><p>Author's Notes: There, I said it. I called Akkarin a good man—which I'm still not sure he is. ...But really, I felt that Akkarin was being too hard on himself, somehow, so I had to include that little epilogue with Takan, to stress the fact that yes, he is a goddamn hero, albeit a damaged, flawed one. I love him mostly because of these flaws, anyway.<p>

Akkarin is also a surprisingly hard character to write when you strip him of wry half-smirks and his mushy love for Sonea.

Comments, please? If you managed to read the whole fic, why not leave a review? :) Any sort of feedback is welcome, including 'awwws!', 'mehs…' and constructive criticism.


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